


what yields the need

by Marenke



Series: AUgust 2020 [8]
Category: Original Work
Genre: AU-gust 2020, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Gen, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:14:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25235263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marenke/pseuds/Marenke
Summary: Her powers don’t need an introduction.
Series: AUgust 2020 [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1828096
Kudos: 3
Collections: AUgust 2020





	what yields the need

**Author's Note:**

> day eight prompt is superheroes/superpowers! another original for the pile

Her powers don’t need an introduction. When not wearing the bracelets made to control her, her aura is oppressive, making people bend their knees to her, become mute. It lingered, too: when asked who had committed a crime, they’d rather die than betray her. In the up and coming criminal circles, they called Reem _Empress,_ as if she, a mere orphan from the worst neighborhood in town, was any sort of royalty.

Right. It's ironic, she's sure. Most titles are.

Reem rolled her eyes at that. She put her hoodie up, adjusted the mask on her face, and walked towards the bank. She needed just a bit more for rent, and then she’d be set for another month. She made a motion to slip the bracelet from her wrist - government issued, supposedly unlockable, but nothing a friendship with someone whose power was lock-picking didn’t solve -, but a hand grabbed hers first. Reem looked up, rage burning in her chest, to see who’d done that.

It was a boy, roughly her age, but his face lacked the signs of malnutrition she had: his blonde hair was glossy and shiny, unlike her dull, black hair, and the pronounced cheekbones he had weren’t hunger, but the actual way his face was defined. The only surprising thing in him was his eyes, milky white and blind.

He looked familiar.

“Who are you?” She asked, pulling her hand, and the boy let it go. 

“I’m Andrej. Known as _Prophet_ on the hero circles.” He paused, stuck his hands in the pockets of his pristine jeans. Reem was sure there’s a stain on hers. “Listen, I know what you’re going to do. You’re the Empress, right.”

It’s not a question.

“It’s none of your business.” Reem replied, and the boy shook his head.

“It is. Listen, you’re going to rob that bank, right?” He asked, and Reem’s back straightened. “Don’t. There’s a superhero team there.”

She risked looking behind him, and yeah, it’s true: a team is doing security for once. They’re in plain clothes, but it’s easy to spot superheroes when you know what you’re looking for; the government doesn’t exactly train them well enough to not be distinctive.

“Okay, fine, you’re saying the truth.” Reem huffed. “What do you want? And don’t come with that ‘ _we could use someone with your talents_ ’ spiel. The government pay is shit.”

He chuckled darkly.

“I need a favor.” Andrej started gently. She gestured for him to follow her, and he does. A question popped in her head as she guides Andrej to a small alley, away from the public eye.

“I’m a prophet. I can see the immediate future. That is how I see.” 

“Creepy.” She replied, and Andrej laughed: a clear, bell-like sound.

“A little, yeah. So, how do you feel about breaking into a government facility that houses supervillains for fun? I can pay well.”

Something snapped in her head - of course he looks familiar, he’s Andrej Orstev, son of Marisja Carmichael, _Red Queen,_ and brother of Anatholia Orestev, _Bunny._ Both were criminal masterminds in their own right, and both got caught on purpose: Reem has heard on the late night radio shows that they’d been put in jail to escape murder attempts, and now controlled the facilities they were in from the inside. Now, the only member of their family was Andrej, sole heir to an unprecedented fortune.

But Andrej wanted to break them out - why? If Anatholia was out, it would halve his money; if his mother was out, his well would be dry.

“I’m not stupid. Why?” His face changes expression, from the careful neutrality from before to something else.

“Either mother or Anatholia have the key to the coffers sewn in their hearts, and I need more money than what they’ve left me. So, will you help me?”

“For a fourth of the cash, yeah.” He offers a hand, which she shakes. At least she won’t need to worry about bank robbing for a while.


End file.
